


Cornucopia

by entanglednow



Category: Justified
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan's feeling a little out of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cornucopia

Raylan's feeling a little out of sorts.

The fresh air outside the cabin's making it worse if anything.

"I told you we needed masks, there's no telling what kind of shit was in there." Boyd's still hovering somewhere to his right. He sounds like Raylan feels, dizzy and overheated, speaking too fast, like the whole world's been sped up and there's too much of it to take in.

Raylan ignores him and folds forward where he's sat, arms resting on his knees. At the moment it feels like his hat's doing a damn good job keeping his head on. Which is strange and new in a way he's already decided he's not overly fond of. It's not getting any worse, but it's like a constant rolling wave that his body doesn't know what to do with. He tips his hat back a little and presses fingers against his forehead, tries to get the thumping to settle down. It's not pain so much as a impatience, something hot and restless. Like too much coffee on a cold day.

"Feel like my head's about a week in front of the rest of me," Boyd complains from somewhere above him, boots shifting in the dirt like he can't stop fidgeting.

Raylan grunts, because that's actually a pretty good way of describing it. He holds his head for a long minute, Boyd's shadow cutting the light out and then letting it through every time he moves.

"Will you sit the hell down," Raylan growls when the pacing gets to be too much.

There's a thump and Boyd's on the ground in front of him, scuffing up the leaves. He leans back on his hands and frowns at the sky.

"There's a chance that we may possibly need medical attention," Raylan decides.

Boyd stretches a leg out and huffs. "Don't feel like I'm dying. Feel pretty fucking strange, but not like I'm dying."

"You ever been poisoned to death before?" Raylan asks with a raised eyebrow.

Boyd grins at him, and there's always too many teeth there. Boyd has a smile that's naturally untrustworthy.

"Poisoned, yes, though not to death, didn't feel like this. This isn't half as unpleasant, less vomiting for one thing."

The back of Raylan's neck is hot, shirt uncomfortable where it's pressed into his back, where he's sweating, even though it's not even that hot out today.

He looks up, to ask Boyd if he can feel it too.

Boyd's staring at his mouth.

He's not even hiding the fact, it's blatant as all hell, and there's no way Raylan should be feeling that under his skin, feeling it low in his belly and lower still where it has no business. It's no better when Boyd eventually lifts his eyes. Raylan's seen a lot of Boyd's expressions, he's even seen this one. But it's never been directed at him before. He's never seen Boyd look like he _wants_ , and Raylan's never come close to wanting back. But he's damned if he can think about anything else right now.

Boyd exhales, slow and easy, and drags himself up by the stump Raylan's sitting on.

They're close enough to end up breathing the same air, close enough that there's no misreading where exactly they're heading.

Raylan's trying so damn hard not to reach out and pull Boyd in by the back of his neck, holding on to that craziness so tightly his teeth hurt. He's hard in his jeans and he doesn't even know when that happened.

Boyd's always been the reckless one, he's the one that does the stupid things first. He breaks before Raylan does, he takes one long breath that ends in a laugh and then moves forward.

His mouth is a fury of heat against Raylan's. The shock of it almost enough to lock him up tight, but he's already too far gone, already dragging him in and kissing him back in a series of messy uncoordinated shoves like he's determined to find out what every damn inch of Boyd's mouth tastes like. Boyd knocks his hat off trying to get a greedy handful of his hair and Raylan lets him. He lets it turn to pain when Boyd pulls, demanding, until he has Raylan's mouth as close as he can get, biting at the edge of it while he tugs at the buttons of his shirt like they've offended him. Boyd's teeth are sharp - but it's easy, so fucking easy to turn the bite into a kiss again, all wet, open mouth and push of tongue that's become the hottest fucking thing on earth. It's all sorts of wrong, Raylan knows that much, but at the moment it's exactly what he wants, more than anything else. What he's been fucking waiting for. Boyd grunts agreement like he knows what that feels like, like he understands, hands dragging Raylan's belt buckle open and unzipping his jeans. Raylan lets him slide rough hands up his waist and catch under his ribs and pull, because there's nothing he wants right now more than Boyd's hands on him.

"Boyd." It falls out somewhere between them, and then he's pushing Boyd back into the dirt, before he's on his knees over him with Boyd's hand in the loosened back of his jeans. Pushing down, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass and Raylan bites into his jaw because he can.

Raylan's working more on instinct than good sense when he jerks Boyd's shirt out of his pants and wrestles the whole damn thing over his head. There's the thud of a boot skidding across the ground and another, and Raylan's dragging every inch of cloth down Boyd's legs and off, kicking his way out of his own jeans with an impatience that he thinks just might kill him.

He presses down into him, gets a growl at the hot drag of hardness, Boyd's fingers catching his waist and encouraging him to grind down hard enough for lust to turn to sharp greedy pain.

Boyd doesn't say no, he doesn't say a damned thing when Raylan shoves two fingers in his mouth, slides them in across his tongue like he's allowed. Sensation sharp down his spine, can't help but wonder what else Boyd would let him do. What else he could get away with. Boyd bites his knuckles and Raylan's going to take that as impatience too. He hisses and drags his fingers free, leans up to kiss him until his mouth's open wide on every breath. He keeps kissing him while he works him open, feeling the clench and press of Boyd's thigh against his arm, while he finger fucks him, and the muffled noises he makes under Raylan's mouth are brand new.

There's an exhale, broken in two and Raylan's shoving Boyd's thighs open for the width of his own waist, listening to the sharp, ragged rasp of every breath that comes out of Boyd's throat.

He pushes in with more enthusiasm than ease, doesn't have a clue how he manages not to come when he's so heavy and so hard he can barely touch himself. Boyd makes a punched-out sound that's half wounded and half greedy and Raylan can't do anything but hold him where he is and strive to get as deep as he can. Though he knows it's too soon, knows he's being more selfish than careful. He doesn't get any protest though, and Boyd has a filthy mouth, Raylan should have known, should have known he'd been _exactly_ like this. All curses and demands that break off into harder noises that aren't pleasure but seem to make him just as happy. He watches every spike of pain chase over Boyd's face, watches his mouth drop open every time he shoves in just right.

Boyd's thighs are damp on his skin, and heavy where he grips them against his waist, but Raylan's so close to the edge he's pretty sure he could break a bone and not notice. Boyd's tight enough to send little shivers of friction pain all the way through him. There should be something especially fucked up about this, but having Boyd underneath him chokes everything else off and it's just the two of them, all harsh breath and unsteady thrusts that can't be comfortable. Boyd's fingers are dug painfully into the curve of his knee, the other hand clawing at the dirt. Raylan catches them both without thinking, strength under sweat and dirt. He presses them down into the ground over Boyd's head and his fingers claw at the back of Raylan's hands instead, half vicious and half desperate.

Boyd calls Raylan a string of filthy names and demands it harder, winces when he gets it and then tips his head back into the dirt and comes over his own stomach hard enough that Raylan feels it all the way though, doesn't have a choice but to let that take him too. He can't be quiet, can't hold any of it, and there are fingers curled round his own so tightly they're in danger of going numb, hips pressed in so hard his thighs ache and the noise Boyd makes is low and dirty, like he can feel it all.

Raylan comes back blinking sweat out of his eyes, breathing into the damp skin of Boyd's chest.

Boyd's fingers are still twitching under his own.

Raylan lifts his head and stares down at him.

"You gonna get off me, Raylan?" Boyd says slowly.

The world's a hell of a lot clearer than it was a moment ago and Raylan sucks an unsteady breath and very carefully slips free of him. He rolls to the side, braces himself on his hands and breathes air that doesn’t taste like tin anymore.

Boyd pushes himself to a sit, holding onto something which clearly wants to be a wince.

"Well, fuck," he says eloquently.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Raylan manages.

Boyd doesn't say a damn word about the blasphemy, or about anything else for that matter.

"I don't know why I did that," Raylan says, voice still a touch away from calm. Still trying to gather some sort of sense as to what exactly in the name of hell just happened here. Whether he should, fuck, apologise or something. The world's still tipped at an angle he doesn't know what to do with.

His hat has rolled off somewhere in the grass, it's a slash of beige in the orange-brown of the leaves.

"My head feels better now," Boyd offers. But other than that he doesn’t react. It's a long drag of silence where Raylan finds himself staring at the muscle of Boyd's thigh. He's fairly sure there are going to be bruises there in the shape on his fingers tomorrow, and the thought rolls around in his head in a way he doesn’t have a clue how to catalogue.

"Are we gonna fight about this?" Raylan's proud of how sensible he sounds.

"No," Boyd says, like he's an idiot. He's not moving much though and Raylan knows he didn't exactly take it easy.

"Are you -"

Boyd cuts him an irritated look.

"So help me, Raylan, if you ask me if my delicate sensibilities are wounded just because you fucked me I'm going to punch you in the mouth."

Raylan nods, awkwardly and stands up, finds his jeans and his shirt. He also finds Boyd's pants wrapped round a tree. He untangles them and takes them back to where Boyd's still making no move to get up. He lowers a hand, there's a snort and then the warm grip of Boyd's fingers. Boyd lets him slowly pull him to his feet, though he makes a face when he gets there and throws Raylan a look that's accusatory. Raylan doesn't have a single idea how he's supposed to react to that.

Boyd works his way, carefully, back into his jeans, drags them over his ass with an expression of obvious distaste and it occurs to Raylan that he didn't exactly turn around while he was doing it. That's he's still looking, even. Boyd misses the button hole three times and Raylan's fairly sure this is what it feels like to be an asshole. The fact that he has no idea what came over him doesn’t help with that at all.

He finds his hat, shakes a leaf off of it. He doesn’t even know what to say any more. It's not like he's overly loquacious at the best of times. But this is a pretty fucked up situation.

Boyd's found his shirt and is glaring at the fact that it has three buttons missing. He shrugs and leaves it to hang. When he looks up it's pretty damn clear he sees something he doesn't like on Raylan's face.

"Just because it was your dick in my ass, doesn't mean you're at fault here. Blame it on the cornucopia of chemicals in that cabin if you like."

"I don't know any chemicals that would cause this," Raylan says quietly. Because maybe he doesn't want to get off that easy.

Boyd's eyebrows flick up. "Well then maybe you just always wanted to fuck me."

Raylan scowls at him. He has more than enough breath in his throat to deny it. But his mouth stays stubbornly silent. Too damn confused to start throwing words around.

Boyd squints into the sunlight, expression half amused and half annoyed and more fond than Raylan properly knows what to do with.

"Though next time, you're gonna buy me dinner first."

  



End file.
